


Gold, Glory and the Girl

by sharkbatez



Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F, iz bumbleby endgame yo but i dont want to tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-02 14:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19200538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkbatez/pseuds/sharkbatez
Summary: Yang Xiao Long, a traveling one-armed huntress is in search of gold and glory. She had spent her time wandering Remnant for glory none would reward her and gold that never stayed. With the Grimm receding into the wilds, the need for hunters and huntresses was growing thin. As a farewell to a dream that would never come true, she enlists in the Ga'ahomkagiso, a Faunus tournament that would give her everything she ever wanted: gold and glory... and more.A little bit too much more than she bargained for.ON HIATUS





	Gold, Glory and the Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Oops. Bamboozled.
> 
>  **** WARNING ****  
>  Sup, people who stumble upon this.
> 
> I'm not actively writing this, not to say I'm not putting an effort into writing it. Outline for this is finished (but lol it's just an outline) and I have written several scenes already. This just isn't my main fanfic project at the moment, but it's currently my most challenging one, plot-wise, structure-wise, pacing-wise and... action scenes... Not my strong suit and not really my favorite to even read, so I'm still studying the best middle ground for it. Since this is a battle-tournament-hack-and-slash-punch-fest, there's really just a lot of action going on and I'm praying this all doesn't turn out dumber than what I imagined.
> 
> Might even have to rewrite the summary because it currently looks very simplistic. Or maybe not? IDK. I've moved on to different chapters' scenes, but there's still a vital one missing for chapter 2. And y'all know how writing goes, it does whatever the flip it wants. It don't care about no outline. Anyway, just dropped in to leave this message because it kinda spiked a little. But thanks for checking it out doe! I'm slightly _pressured_ to hurry up and finish this and "slightly pressured" is a pretty decent motivator.
> 
> Gugma, my friends.

It was a really warm day. A little humid, to be precise. The sun could beat down on her for hours and hours, but it was the sweat that clung to the back of her neck was beginning to send her over the edge of her patience. What made things worse was the dozens of puddles of dirty water and mud along the dirt road. The pre-dawn rain had woken her from her sleep, uncomfortable as she had lain on the jagged roots of a tree, but it had been the only respite she had felt she could take in the last few days. But now, her wakefulness had only reminded her that she was starving. She hadn't eaten since yesterday, around noon. The bread had been hard as rock and the soup tasted like sea water. But beggars couldn't be choosers and she wolfed her meal down with gusto before she set off. Right now, she couldn't even afford another bowl of the seawater-soup alone. Not until she finished the job.

She pulled the rucksack higher up her shoulder, her trophy swinging with each exhausted step she took and slapping against her back every now and then. The sound of squelching and the occasional feeling of being stabbed in the back irritated her, but this was her ticket out of here. This would all be over soon.

Her Scroll rang as she caught sight of smoke rising in the horizon. Absentmindedly, she answered the video call, eyes still glued to the smoke. She had been around these roads for months — heck, she had been around much more dangerous places all across Remnant — she knew that smoke usually meant danger, death, doom, disaster and all sorts of dreadful things. For a moment, she worried that she had gotten lost on the way back, but she was relieved to know that the smoke had been coming from a chimney, attached to a slightly bigger house with a piece of wood stuck to a metal post, flapping against what little wind that passed through.

"Uhhh... is this a bad time?"

Yang Xiao Long looked down at her Scroll, smiling at the confused expression on her younger sister's face, "Nope. I feel as if my luck's finally turning around. I think I see a tavern or something."

Ruby looked as if she hadn't aged a single day since they last saw each other. Her reddish-black hair was a little longer, curling over her shoulder; her piercing grey eyes shining with a thick gleam of discomfort and worry. Her face was a little pale, dark circles under her eyes and her lips stretched into a thin line. "Well, can you make sure it actually **is** a tavern before walking in? I think your story about that inn at Shion made me a little paranoid for you. And that was Shion, Yang. You're in Menagerie. That place is teeming with bandits, outlaws and all sorts of poisonous Grimm. Not to mention the _locals_."

Yang frowned. She glanced at the silhouette of the tavern. She spotted an old man sweeping dust off the front porch. She could hear a couple of chickens clucking about and an argument breaking out from inside the establishment. The chaos in her surroundings was probably much easier to bear than the condescension in her sister's voice. Ruby meant to say " _the Faunus_ ", those half-human, half-animal beings that walked on two legs and had been cloistered in their own little island for the last century or so. A part of her wanted to believe that her sister's wife wasn't corrupting Ruby's mind with that sunny Atlesian racism with a side of snobbery of hers. Everyone in Remnant had a reason to be wary of their strange neighbors. But Yang had been calling and sending messages to Ruby, to Weiss, to Taiyang, her father and her mother about Menagerie; telling them that everything they knew about the place had been outdated bits of information from **before** the Great Remnant War.

Things were different now and the moment Yang had landed on the shores of Menagerie, she realized that every single old nursery rhyme and old wives' tale about the place and its people were complete utter bullshit.

"Come on, Yang! You know I don't mean it like that." Yang shot her a warning look that made Ruby straighten herself from the other line, "Whether you're their target or not, Yang, these people have a tendency to just _fight their disagreements away_. Tons and tons of protests in the last thirty years. Bloody. Violent."

"And just the way I like it."

Ruby only sighed.

"This is my life, Rubes." Yang hitched the rucksack higher, moving closer and closer to the tavern, "It's not really as glamorous or as comfortable as yours, but I'm pretty much content."

"When was the last time you even slept in a bed?"

Yang rolled her eyes, opened her mouth and paused. When _was_ the last time she slept in a bed? She knew that she started her current assignment three days ago, but she didn't remember what she was doing before that or where she even was. The entire time she had been here, all she did was walk up to pubs, inns, taverns and whatever  _watering hole_ she could find, asking for assignments, looking for jobs that could help her get by. A bed just seemed like a luxury she couldn't afford. 

"Yang?" Ruby said cautiously, "You know you could just call us, right?"

Yang huffed.

"Anytime at all." Ruby continued, "Weiss and I are going straight to you. We'll take you back home and help you get set up with a brand new life."

"I'm fine, Ruby." Yang pulled the rucksack from her shoulders and held it up for Ruby to see, "This is going to get me enough cash to get a ticket home by the end of the week."

"End of the week?" Ruby asked incredulously. She didn't need to add the part that Yang knew burned at the back of her sister's throat, _like you've been saying for the last month_.

Yang forced herself to smile, "You've got one thing right about the locals though. The Faunus are pretty hardy people. They could handle Grimm infestations on their own and what little job I could get pays next to nothing. Menagerie's just slim pickings for a human girl."

_A one-armed one at that._

She shook her head and tried not to think about it, afraid that she might blurt it out to her sister. Losing her arm felt like the end of the world. Not just for her, but for her family as well. For Ruby, for her father, even for Weiss. Some days after the entire ordeal, she felt useless, like a husk waiting for the dust to settle and for the earth to swallow her whole. Crying wouldn't magically grow her arm back, but she had found that it was the easier thing to do than to look at  _nothing._ Too bad magic only existed in fairy tales. Yang probably could have grown an entire human being with all the tears that she'd cried. Maybe three. Who was counting?

It was her sister's wife who had gifted her the prosthetic arm though. Weiss called a friend of a friend, her sister, the Atlesian military for some strange reason. She was a Schnee, Yang had reminded herself, every powerful person in Atlas was her friend. After disappearing for three agonizing weeks, Weiss had shown up at the Rose-Xiao Long household, arms full of blueprints, brochures, samples and designs. Reluctantly, Yang chose the unfinished prototype called  _Alistair_ out of spite and told Weiss to shove whatever remained of her old weapon inside of it, but another three weeks went by and a package had arrived for her from an undisclosed facility in Atlas. Inside it was the arm she had chosen, bright and shiny metal and carbon fiber, complete with a user manual, a warranty card with a number she could call and a handwritten note that read: 

 _It's not Ember Celica, but it can be a whole other adventure.  
_ _\- W_

And what an adventure learning to use it had been.

Yang had eventually gone back to the Academy after a few more surgeries. She continued with her Huntress Training as if nothing bad had happened to her. The duels and the practical tests weren't too different. It was the academics that proved to be more of a challenge though. It had taken months of therapy and practice just to even be able to perform basic tasks with her brand-new Ember-Celica-but-not-really arm. Writing with a flimsy pencil had been a difficult task already, but to pair it with the stares and whispers of her schoolmates had made it near impossible. It was as if she wasn't even a person anymore; they only saw the metal that had once been mangled flesh. When the novelty of her mechanical arm wore off, Yang decided to give it an on-brand paint job with a spare can of spray paint from the garage. Weiss and her father almost popped a blood vessel. Ruby, bless her soul, wanted to contribute with glow-in-the-dark stickers of stars and unicorns. Before starting her final year at the Academy though, they had all gone out to upgrade a few of the arm's parts, tweaked existing settings and gave it a real paint job. For the first time since the accident, Yang felt more like herself.

She smiled fondly at the memory, an ache blooming in her chest as she listened to her sister's half-hearted pleas for her to join them in Atlas. She was going to miss this life; roaming freely, protecting innocent civilians from Grimm infestations and bandits. With a promise to call again tomorrow, the sisters bid their goodbyes as Yang reached the nearly clean front porch of the tavern. The building had no name, but the piece of wood that served as a sign was painted with a black tankard. There was shouting and cheering from inside, men and women scrambling and feet stomping on the rickety wooden floor. She was exhausted, cranky; she felt slick all over and there was the intense bout of hunger that gripped her poor stomach. Sea-water soup seemed like a pretty good idea right now.

She walked into the tavern. It was dimly lit, a little dusty and the smell of alcohol and sweat invaded her nostrils and filled her lungs. There was an old woman behind the counter with a spotted tail swatting at the rowdy group of men that cheered and hollered and smashed their glasses and tankards together. For a moment, Yang thought that these men might have been harassing her, but she spotted the television over the old woman's head and what seemed to be a sports broadcast that enthralled them all.

_"... arrival of the sixth clan to join the..."_

"Oh, look, it's that human girl." a man with the voice like gravel said from somewhere in the crowd, "I thought she died in the wilderness."

"Isn't she some sort of hunter or something?" a woman added into the mix, followed by a low hiss that Yang barely caught.

"One-armed huntress." 

"Heard she wiped out the boarbatusks that destroyed that little village up North."

"That human girl?"

"...Hunter?"

_"... we are now waiting for the last of the Na'aphili..."_

"What's wrong with that arm?" a younger man whispered, his horns bending in opposite directions.

"... killed a beowulf feasting on a nevermore..."

"... don't belong here..."

_"This is really a momentous occasion!"_

"Shut your traps, you cretins!" the old woman's tail swatted at the patrons as she poured them another round of rum, "She seems like a lot more help here than your lazy asses." She flashed Yang a warm smile and motioned for her to take a seat away from the grumbling crowd, "Honestly, this stupid tournament's just gotten the few good hunters and fighters around packing for the capital. I just about thought nobody was going to answer my bill for weeks because these sad sacks sure as hell didn't. Imagine my delight when my cousin called me saying _somebody_ had answered my post."

"Quit your yapping, woman." the first man murmured, the rum dribbling down his stubbly chin on to his hairy — _furry?_ — chest, "That one-armed human's no better than all of us."

"So, it's not just a glove?"

Yang didn't look at them, tightening her hold on her rucksack and staring up at the television instead. The television was now displaying a live feed of a big gathering around a very large and crowded space. There were tents and lines and tables and some horses and makeshift arenas and rings where a couple of figures would swing weapons at each other. The old woman disappeared through a door, the sound of fire and the smell of breakfast made Yang dizzy with hunger.

The old woman came back with a steaming plate of something meaty, something that was actually evenly cooked and smelled like heaven. Yang could practically feel the spices tickling her nose, worming their way down to her empty stomach. Her face fell as the tailed woman handed the plate over to some dusty traveler on the other side of the bar, but she immediately smiled as soon as the woman approached.

"I'm guessing that dirty sack of yours is proof that the job's done?"

Yang raised the bag and offered it to the woman, "You can see for yourself."

The old woman winced and took a step back, her hand flying to pinch her nose from the scent that Yang thought wasn't too repugnant, "My nose is strong enough, kid."

Before Yang could hide the bag in shame, the old woman swiped it from her hand and marched right out of the tavern, through the front door like some common visitor. Yang followed her via the windows, watching as she circled to the back until she couldn't see her anymore. Yang was left to fidget in her seat, casting wary glances at the others who divided their attention between her and the sports game that thrilled them.

Yang was no stranger to being _the stranger_ , the outsider, the human girl. She had once tried to blend into the background, but, apparently, a huntress with a mechanical arm wasn't normal. Not in Vale, not in Vacuo and especially not in Faunus territory where the folks here were used to an **extra** appendage, not a missing one. Humans in Menagerie weren't really rare either. Yang had encountered several others during her travels and there seemed to be human locals in some heavily populated cities up North and to the West. But they were all far and few; many of which were just like her: hunters looking to get by. And she could feel that Remnant was needing less and less of hunters with each passing day.

"I need a damn retirement plan." Yang thought to herself, groaning inwardly as she cast another look at the television screen.

Whatever this game was, it seemed like a huge deal. Apparently, there were plenty of business people in attendance who normally had no business going to something that didn't earn them any money, but there they were. The camera had focused on a Faunus dressed to the nines in a maroon pin-striped suit, piercings all over her face, smiling and waving to the crowd as her bodyguards motioned for her to move forward.

"What in heavens is this?" Yang mumbled to herself, leaning closer and closer to the TV, actively ignoring the roaring and cheering beside her.

"Of course, you wouldn't know." The old woman seemed to have manifested by Yang's side, wiping her hands on her apron, "I assumed you would since you seem to know your way around the forest. Figured you'd have only been here a little while, but the Ga'ahomkagiso has been the talk of the entire island for weeks."

Yang watched as the old woman reminded her patrons to quiet down, patting some of them on the back as she returned to her post behind the bar. Before Yang could protest, could argue that she had been in Menagerie for almost two months now and had never once heard about the gam-ka-miso thing, the woman went back into the kitchen. Yang could hear the sound of sizzling and metal scraping against metal. She was beginning to feel anxious. Normally, people paid up right after the job was done, right after catching the glorious whiff of roadkill, but the old woman acted as if Yang hadn't delivered to her the head of the nevermore that ate her chickens and pooped on the tavern roof.

There were those instances where she never got paid though. Those were days when she really had to tie herself to the trunk of tree lest she punch a greedy bureaucrat in the face. A taint in her visitor's passport was a taint to her credibility as a huntress and it only made the job market even smaller than it already was. She did snatch a few apples from her backyard and left dog feces on her lawn. But that had only left her with the single option of going hungry again or selling _Bumblebee,_ her bike that had definitely seen better days.

The old woman came back outside with another steaming plate of eggs and sausages. Yang leaned closer and quickly closed her mouth as the plate was placed right before her. She almost cried. The eggs were the fluffiest she had ever seen in the last decade or so and the sausages looked a little burnt — just the way she liked them. There were mushrooms and a piece of bread that was actually soft and a thin wedge of cheese. A few of the patrons had looked her way, peeking at the food in front of her.

"On the house." she said, handing Yang a pair of utensils and sliding a folded piece of paper to her, "I really did think I would have to go up to the damn mountains and kill that nevermore myself. I could have lost my head and I could have lost my business. Now where would these cretins run off to?"

She shot a nasty look at her patrons who immediately glued their eyes to the TV. But Yang didn't bother looking up. This was the best day of her miserable life.

Well, not really, but her life had been fraught with disappointment, near-death experiences and free labor. She had always wanted to be a famous adventurer; Yang Xiao Long, the Greatest Huntress Who Ever Lived and one who rolled in riches. People would look for her from all around Remnant, would sing of her name, build statues in her honor and throw themselves at her feet every step of the way. Instead, she was just the One-Armed Human Girl, eternally fresh off the boat and an outsider. Nobody had even sincerely flirted with her, at least once, since arriving in Menagerie. That was an unexpected blow to her fragile self-esteem.

"The Ga'ahomkagiso is the warrior's tournament." the old woman said to her, her own eyes glued to the TV, "Every single person who claims to be any sort of a warrior would ride off to the capital and beat other warriors senseless. Some die and some come back wishing they **had** died."

Yang snorted, inhaling the eggs, "Why?"

The old woman stared at her with a quirked brow and handed her a napkin, "Tradition. The Ga'ahomkagiso happens once in a lifetime. Maybe two, but the last one was twenty-five years ago. Before that, the tournament was only mentioned before the Great Remnant War."

"Twenty-five years ago, my father hadn't even met my mother."

The gravelly-voiced man scoffed, raising his empty glass at the old woman and glaring daggers at Yang, "You laugh now, girl, but I'm pretty sure you'll be taking that money and making your way over to Kuo Kuana to get your head lopped off."

Yang took a peek inside the folded piece of paper as she ate the rest of her meal. The bounty was just enough to catch a train to the nearest port town and get a one-way ticket to Patch Island — to _home_. She pocketed the money as the old woman approached her with a glass of water. "I'm heading off now."

"Thank you kindly." she smiled.

"You didn't even tell her the best part!" the man slurred, waving his arm around and spilling his refill all over the counter, "Fuck tradition. Warriors of Old used to die for the honor of being able to say they whacked each other with pointy sticks, but time's a-changing. The damn king's making sure of that."

A few of the tavern patrons boo-ed while most of them rhythmically slammed their fists on wooden surfaces or clinked their tankards together. The old woman rolled her eyes and flashed Yang a sympathetic, yet knowing, smile.

"The lucky bastard left standing gets to be crowned _The Mightiest Warrior of Menagerie_." he gulped down whatever was left of his drink and sighed as loudly as he possibly could, "And the grand prize is a chest full of gold — the size of an ursa cub."

"That could buy me three houses back in Patch!" Yang thought, ears perking.

"No, wait! Two chests. Or... hold on..."

"Five houses!" her mind continued, imagining all of the plots of land and small houses she could get. There would be one for her, one for her father, one for Ruby, two for Weiss. Well, only if the happy couple decided to visit Patch Island once in a while. Or maybe Yang could build her own house in Atlas, instead of lounging about Ruby's and Weiss's many boring couches. She could get an apartment near their place and when their little munchkin would finally pop out of the oven, Yang would literally be a stone's throw away!

"Was it one chest the size of a big ursa... or... uhh... what was I saying?"

"Three chests of gold!" the old woman chuckled and grinned at Yang, "The size of adult male boarbatusks."

"Five houses!" Yang felt dizzy, like her head was about to explode, "In each continent. I could get Bumblebee back. I could buy ten Bumblebees. I could buy an airship. I could buy a boat. I could buy my own private island if I wanted."

The old woman leaned closer to Yang and pointed to her pocket, "You were a big help, but honestly, I think you should take that money and steer clear from the capital."

Yang snorted and pulled her gloves on tighter, "Thanks, ma'am, but I think I can handle myself. I may not be known around these parts, but I am a formidable warrior, alright. I'm a huntress!"

"Whatever you say, girl." the old woman moved away from Yang. She grabbed a towel from the bottom of the bar and began wiping away at the spill the man had caused, "Don't say I didn't warn you, but if you've got yourself a death wish, you gotta go now because the tournament's starting tomorrow."

Yang stared up at the television and watched as a celebration was happening on-screen. The last of the seven tribes had arrived and there were fewer and fewer people arriving to join the tournament. She waved her thanks and goodbye to the old woman. She reluctantly grunted a thank you to the drunken man who mumbled something incoherent to her and quickly cheered at the television instead. Energized and motivated, Yang dashed out of the tavern, heading towards the station in search of a train that would take her straight to the capital: Kuo Kuana.

 

* * *

 

The fighting had been going on for days now. It was bad enough that it all happened right underneath her window, where she could hear every pained grunt, every haughty laugh and taunt and joke, every clash of sword or axe or armor being beaten to a pulp, every claim for the  _princess' virtue._

_Clang._

_Whoosh._

_Clang._

_Thud._

_I won't be too kind in the arena, coward!_

Soon enough, it will be quiet beneath her bedroom window. The hapless fighters will have moved on to the Grand Arena to make as much noise as they wanted and pulverize their enemies as they saw fit. But it would never leave her with any semblance of peace.

How could it? Some of them were going to die, she was sure of it. All for gold and  _her._ Where was the honor in that?

Blake Belladonna slipped out of her massive bed; the carpet beneath her feet was soft and warm. Her entire bedroom smelled of freshly-picked flowers, her silk sheets always clean and smelled of lavender and soap. The wide windows were hidden by the heavy drawn curtains, not to shield herself from the ruckus outside, but to hide herself away from them. The sight of her would send the fighters outside into a frenzy and a part of her thought that the noise was carefully devised to lure her out of her hiding place. It was no secret that she could hear better than most. After all, she did have another set of ears, more trouble than they were useful.

Right now, she could agree with the _humans_. Maybe a little bit. She felt like a cursed Faunus.

She flattened her feline ears against her head, to dull the chaos outside a little, and faced the bookshelf across from the windows instead. She tried to ground herself in the rectangular colors that adorned her wall, the words and worlds they held within their pages. She couldn't even remember the last time she had sat down to read a book. It was most definitely long before the first ambitious warrior pitched a tent outside, long before her twenty-first birthday.

Despite her father's predilection for change, for _moving out of the dark ages_ \- as he would grumble with a half-hearted chuckle - he seemed intent on pushing through with this damned tournament. Maybe it was because, deep down, her father missed the battlefield. His Royal Highness, King Ghira Belladonna had fought in wars and skirmishes since he was old enough to swing a broadaxe; born under the bloody rule of the Tyrant-King Sig, it was either fight or starve to death. Many men and women were given that choice as well and, in the end, they had chosen her father to rule what was left of Menagerie.

The door to her chamber opened, "Have you heard the news?" Ilia Amitola of the Tuiko Clan, eyes glued to her Scroll and one hand dutifully resting on the hilt of her sword, walked in, not even bothering to look up at her. Blake's ears twitched at the sound that came from Ilia's Scroll, even at this distance, even in their current predicament, she could hear it clearly.

 _"... —ak Clan, setting his sights on a much bigger title..."_ the voice of a man echoed from Ilia's device.

As soon as Ilia stopped beside her, Blake blindly pressed the screen in the hopes that it would pause whatever it was Ilia was staring at. Or maybe it would just play some random thing. She didn't care at all. The tournament was all over the news, broadcasting throughout all of Menagerie and she was getting sick of it. She had carefully avoided all talk of the tournament, but as the first day grew closer, the more people feverishly talked about it. Word around town was that a betting pool had started in the pubs and taverns strewn about Kuo Kuana; the pot money easily growing to at least a sixth of the tournament winner's cash prize.

She was beginning to feel like all of Remnant was out to smother her. The world was cruel.

For weeks, she had been requesting both formal and informal meetings with the members of the Elder Council, begging each one to put a stop to this impending massacre, but they had all turned her down with soft smiles and sagely shakes of their heads. _"We need ancient traditions now more than ever", "This will be far less violent than when it began", "Some of them will be dying for an honorable cause"_. Blake wasn't convinced. She kept trying until the Council had closed their doors on her, had refused to even speak with her. Her last hope had been her father.

"It's going to be alright, Blake." Ilia softly said, hand poised to offer a comforting pat on the shoulder and a pained smile on her freckled face.

_Dear, sweet Ilia._

Blake shook her head and turned on her heel. She glowered at the curtains that hid her away from view, desperately wishing that every single person participating in their little mock-battles would just pack up and head back to their lives, to live and be as far away from this charade as possible. Ilia was wrong. Something horrible was going to happen. She could feel it in the air, burning in the pit of her stomach. It was only just a matter of time. Why couldn't anybody else feel it?

"We both know that's not true." she whispered. She had to do something.

"You're practically banned from the Council chambers, Blake." Ilia didn't have to remind her, but she did, "What are you going to do? Run outside and rally for everyone to withdraw from the tournament? That's not going to work."

Blake wanted to shout at her. Of course, talking to the warriors outside was not going to work. There were plenty of possibilities if she could do **that** , but they would most likely end in an all-out riot. The Elder Council would be furious and her father? His disappointment would be the torture that would break her spirit. She balled her hands into fists, cast a sideways glance at Ilia and said through gritted teeth, "I need to speak to my dad."

 

* * *

 

 

Blake marched down the halls with Ilia hot at her heels. The guards in every corner straightened, nodding as they passed. Several doors were left open, signifying its emptiness. The people were either at work outside or maybe locked up in the King's study. The Chamber to the Elder Council was empty today. The Council rarely held meetings ever since Blake had started her campaign against the tournament, opting to smile and wave at cameras and the public that basically squatted in front of the palace than to deal with the troublesome princess. They had even gone to the lengths of scheduling their meetings at odd hours, if only to discourage Blake's presence.

The two girls turned into a long corridor, wider and brighter with a dozen guards stationed evenly on both sides. The double doors on the far end were closed; the two armored guards that blocked the entry with bayonets didn't flinch at their approach.

"Is my father inside?" Blake stared down the man to her right. He nodded. "Am I interrupting something?"

Before he could respond, the doors swung open and Ghira Belladonna held the door open for the two girls. Blake and Ilia followed Ghira past the anteroom, crowded with tall bookshelves and small desks, and into his wide open study, twice the size of Blake's bedroom. The girls waited as Ghira circled behind his large oaken desk, its surface littered with folders, opened letters, unopened letters, stamps, pens, a half-empty coffee mug and a tiny crystal vase with a bunch of dying yellow gladiolus.

"Sit, sit." he said a little impatiently, setting some of the papers aside so he could rest his arms on his table.

Blake sat herself down on the chair across from him. Ilia, on the other hand, took a couple steps back and stood by the door, staring at the windows right behind Ghira's chair.

King Ghira Belladonna was a big man, easily the size of three men; broad shoulders, gigantic hands and massive feet. His every garment was specially tailored and his every shoe commissioned. There were rumors, spreading in the far reaches of Menagerie, that he was descended from giants that once roamed all of Remnant - before the humans, before the Faunus themselves. But there was never any proof that giants existed. Never mind being descended from them. Besides, Blake wasn't as tall as she wished she was. Maybe she had gotten her height from her mother.

"I'm gonna go out on a limb and pray that you're not here for what I think you're here for." an exhausted smile spread across his lips, golden eyes expectant and gentle. It did hurt Blake to break his heart these days, but it had to be done. She had to be heard. 

"You know this isn't right." Blake said flatly, softly, so as not to stir the proverbial pot.

His sigh was loud against all four of her ears. She wondered, since her father didn't have any visible animal parts, if he was bestowed with the hearing of his feline genetics. Or maybe he really was a giant. "Blake, it's too late for that. You have to understand. This is a time-honored tradition, one that our forefathers have been practicing since the beginning of time, since before the time of the invaders."

"So, because they couldn't kill us all, we'll do it for them?"

Ghira growled low. There was the feline trait she was looking for. "We're in a crisis, Blake. I thought you, of all people, would understand that we all need _this_. It's something familiar, something so close to our roots."

"Something barbaric!"

"We are born warriors." Ghira threw his head back against his chair, averting his eyes from his petulant daughter, "Fighting is in our blood and we didn't even have a choice." Ghira stood from his seat, his full height blocking the entire window from both her and Ilia. "Our old invaders had made sure of that."

Blake lowered her gaze, hands grasping at the hem of her skirt until she lost feeling in her fingers. She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck standing. She was ready to get up and bolt out of his study. She knew he would be angry at her, would shout at her. She had been pushing it too far in the last three weeks, but still. He was _her_ father. He couldn't do this to her. He just couldn't.

"It will almost be a century since the first war and I intend to usher our people into the age of peace and prosperity." he gently lowered himself back to his seat, pushing back the exhaustion as he smiled at her, "I've been trying, long before you were born, every attempt at peace conferences with our neighboring countries has been met with violence, riots and death threats. The Elder Council has advised for this tournament as a means to - to - to shoehorn the very idea of peace into our culture. I intend for this to be the last."

"And what about _me_?" Blake practically sobbed, "I want peace, as much as you, but I... I never asked for this."

She cursed herself for her inability to contain her feelings, but almost every person who mattered paid little attention to her pleas, her arguments. It was as if she didn't matter. It was as if she was only a means to a cruel end. She squared her shoulders, set her jaw and stared down her father with tears threatening to spill from her eyes. Ghira, broad chest and shoulders and a threatening air to him, had the decency to look guilty.

"The Ga'ahomkagiso was always meant to give a daughter away." he mumbled mostly to himself.

"Dad, please."

They sat there in silence, eyes pleading for understanding. Blake was beginning to see realization dawn on her father's face. His shoulders dropped and his hands lay flat on top of his desk. After a few more seconds, he finally raised his eyes to hers with a small yet determined smile on his face. He reached out his hands, waiting for Blake to do the same. She tentatively did so, her hands so small and so breakable against his, but his grip was gentle as he squeezed.

"You're not marrying anybody." he whispered with a faint smile, "I promise you that, but I'm sorry, Blake. There really is nothing more I could do about the tournament. It's going to happen."

Blake cursed herself for the joy that blossomed in her chest. She had expected a worse outcome: to still be given away just like that, to still watch as countless men and women fought for her, over her. Or maybe it was just for the gold and the possibility that came with after marrying her. She forced herself a grateful smile as her father explained. She had heard it all before.

_"It would ease the public's demand for warfare, sate their bloodlust."_

_"It would distract the people from waging another civil war over the peace conferences."_

King Ghira Belladonna was desperate, then. For good reason. He furrowed his brow, one hand scratching his beard while the other still held hers. "There are plenty of plans for another peace conference between Menagerie, Vale and Mistral. There is even the possibility that the Atlesian consulate would send a representative."

Blake could feel her throat constricting and a burning sensation in her eyes, could feel understanding creeping into her head. There must be a better way. Her father smiled and pressed a tender kiss to her knuckle. Right now, there was no other way, but at least _**she** was safe_. At least she got to keep her freedom. She intended for this to be the last Ga'ahomkagiso as well. 

"I'll make the announcement tomorrow." he said firmly, rising from his seat once more and smiling at her as if she was still the lanky twelve-year-old girl that used to climb on top of his shoulders.

"Your Majesty!"

Blake and Ghira turned to their new companion.

Her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of Blake. She bowed her head, a soft smile spread across her lips. "Your Highness."

"Madam Lurline." Blake nodded and smiled as well.

"I was not expecting to see you, child." the Madam stood beside Blake, a hand almost reached out to stroke her hair, but it quickly fell to her side. Her silver hair was brushed into an intricate up-do, away from her kind, wrinkled face. The old woman leaned forward on a cane, perhaps burdened by the fragility of her bones, and quite possibly, the early signs of osteoporosis. She had been in the Elder Council the longest. She had been her father's most-trusted adviser in his early years as king. She had been Blake's most ardent supporter, always questioning the other council member's decision to throw the princess into the violent mix of the tournament.

Madam Lurline frowned at the King. Ghira, for his part, simply raised his arms in a show of surrender, a boyish smile completely out of place on his strong features, his kingly features. "I do believe there are apologies that need to be exchanged."

"Exchanged?" Madam Lurline raised a brow, her hand finding its way to Blake's shoulder.

The king coughed and looked abashed, "Given would be the correct word. _Gifted_ , even."

Madam Lurline slowly craned her neck, looking up to look into Blake's face. Considerate of the old woman's state, Blake leaned forward, a tender hand placed on the older woman's arm and armed with her most winning smile. She desperately tried to push back the disappointment. The tournament was afoot and to stop it now would only cause an outcry. "It's alright, Madam Lurline."

Blake was rewarded with a toothy smile.

"Why don't you give us a moment, Blake?" Ghira extended his arm out to the old woman, "Madam Lurline and I have a meeting scheduled this morning."

"The King and I need to plan how to talk some sense into the other idiots of the Council!" the old woman chuckled as Ghira paled.

Blake smiled as she bowed low, slowly retreating as the King assisted the elderly woman to the seat she had occupied a few minutes before. Ilia stiffened as Blake wrapped her hands around her wrist, tugging her out of the room to give her father some privacy.

"Are you ready for tomorrow, Your Majesty?" Madam Lurline practically sang.

Ghira laughed in agreement and Blake tugged harder so she and Ilia could leave faster.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Chapter 2

 

Regret was a low rumble in the pit of her stomach. Almost as low as the chug of the train. Yang sighed, staring out the grimy window, at the hills and trees that passed. If she had known about this tournament and the _grand prize_ sooner, she might not have traded her bike and headed straight for Kuo Kuana. Despite the misfortunes of the entire week, she was at least grateful for yesterday. Today was another story. She should have been at the capital an hour ago, if the murmurs and grumbles in the train car were to be believed.

She checked her Scroll and frowned at the poor reception she was getting. Ruby had left three voicemails and five messages overnight, asking Yang if she was already on her way home. She tucked her Scroll in her pocket and forced her mind to think about the tournament instead. It wasn't really as if she __promised__ to come home. Ruby had known her financial struggles in the past months, long before Yang had found herself in the hardy shores of Menagerie. Maybe she could say that prices had gone up, or there was another job that would pay for an actual airship ride. She groaned. Yang never knew lying could be so sickening, especially to her own sister.

But it wasn't necessarily going to be a lie though. She had spent a considerable amount of money just being on this train and the fact that they were already running late was going to mean missing the final registration of the tournament. Maybe, at the end of the day, she **_**_would_**_** have to find another job or two.

Yang looked around the train car and observed the people. There was a family of three in the far back; a man with pincers for hands had his arm wrapped around what looked like a younger version of himself. At first glance, the woman beside him looked like a human, but Yang caught the faint glint of scales as the light reflected off of her arms. In front of them, sat a man silently reading his book; his frown was obscured by a thick, black mustache. He was dressed in a yellowed shirt and a tattered brown jacket two sizes too big for his smallish frame. He simply exuded the 'lover-not-a-fighter' vibe, but Yang had learned long ago not to let appearances fool her. He could be another hopeful combatant for the tournament or a serial killer.

There was an older couple right behind her, arguing under their breaths about the bad signal and a cousin who was returning from Vale. There were three women seated in front of Yang, who stared and subtly pointed in her direction.

"She doesn't look human." one of them whispered.

"Are you doubting me?" the second one grumbled, "I can smell her from here."

It took all of her willpower not to sniff herself. The women didn't seem too bothered that she had caught on to their gossip. They took one last long look at her before they turned their backs on her, a little bit softer, but Yang could still hear them conversing about her presence. She turned her attention to the remaining passengers instead. Another man, arm spread over the back of the train seat, a red-haired woman scribbling on a notebook and a heavily bearded man snoring softly somewhere behind her.

Yang sighed and returned to worrying about being late. When in Menagerie, there was no telling who was a threat or wasn't. Appearances didn't matter here, as much as they did in other continents. Out here, people gave their word and gambled their faith and their lives for a chests full of gold. Perhaps the three women were formidable combatants or reformed bandits. Perhaps the wife of the small family was a famed hero from some years ago.

Yang Xiao Long would be the same. She did not cross the shining sea, fresh out of the Academy just to second-guess herself. She wanted this, she reminded herself. She wanted this so much that the thought of taking up a patrol job in the barely-wild outskirts of Mistral made her sick. She wanted adventure, danger, the adrenaline rush of fighting and winning the battle. Though she may be down on her luck now, a pitiful outsider that was in over her head, she was going to try and win the tournament. She had nothing to lose anyway, but she had three chests of gold to gain. And glory. Whatever humdrum life that awaited her after this was going to have to keep waiting.

In the distance, Yang could see the next stop, several people loitering about the platform. The train slowed as they approached and the other passengers in the car sighed in relief and praised whatever deity that they finally made it to their destination.

As she waited to step off of the train, she checked her Scroll one final time. There weren't any new missed calls or messages from her sister. She sent Ruby a simple text message, maneuvering herself between the bodies that tried to board the train before the passengers had even gotten onto the platform. A simple apology would have to be enough for Ruby; a pathetic excuse of missing the train or riding the wrong bus instead. It would have to do for today.

Tomorrow would have to wait too.

Yang ran out of the station and into the bustling streets of Kuo Kuana. She was eventually swallowed by a crowd of cheering people, a few tails swished at her face, a horn or elbow or knee grazing her skin or snagging at her coat as they told her to move out of the way. Some of them had looked at her funny, eyes raking over her, either staring at her mechanical arm or simply wondering what sort of creature she was. She had made a futile attempt at asking for directions to the tournament, stumbling over the official name and worrying about offending anybody at her failure to even remember it. Fortunately, her words could barely be heard over the chanting and whistling and howling and the few people who had even stopped to pay a little bit of attention to her made vague gestures westward, punctuating it "You can't miss it" and "Just keep walking".

BARIS! BARIS!

MAGYA!

BARAK! BARAK! VICTORY TO BARAK!

The streets had disappeared with the marching crowd and all Yang could see was the buildings that were covered with colorful banners swinging in the wind. She assumed they were coat of arms, a symbol of some sort of Faunus royalty or government agency. There were flowers and streamers and tents with all sorts of things for sale, from food to keychains, to weaponry. There were a hundred different smells that lingered in the air, mixed with sweat and alcohol and burning coal.

She squeezed herself out of the moving throng, inching closer to a couple of street performers, a tailed juggler and a woman playing a gleaming accordion, her talons stomping on the cobblestone street as a makeshift beat. A young girl cradling a basket full of flowers pressed herself against Yang's side, tilting her head to keep her two-pronged horns from scratching her, dodging as a raucous group of teenagers playfully pushed and shoved at each other. Yang wrapped a protective arm over her shoulder, scowling at the reckless teens who never even noticed them. The little girl held a flower up at Yang as thanks, grinning when the huntress had gently plucked it from her fingers.

"Do you know where the tournament is?" Yang shouted over the oompah-pah of the street performer's instrument.

The young girl was mildly confused, bright brown eyes wide and locked onto this stranger as if Yang had grown a second head. Nevertheless, she grinned wide once more, one brow raised in mock chastisement and pointed westward, "In front of the palace."

"Ah, yes!" Yang bit back her groan, afraid to offend the only person who stopped to even listen, "I've been there dozens of times before. Yup. I practically live there."

The girl only smiled and pointed again, "Everyone else is going there! It's just past the town square, beyond these buildings. Careful not to follow the drunks and persistent merchants though. They might lead you elsewhere and rob you blind."

Yang looked westward and found a large number of people heading westward, turning a corner towards the center of the __opening ceremony.__ She held her breath, her flesh-hand reaching to grab hold of the girl's shoulder for support. "Opening ceremony? Shit! I can't sign up anymore?"

"You said a bad word." the girl shrugged Yang's hand away, "The tournament hasn't __officially__ started yet and the registration lasts until sundown, right after a message from the King and before the big feast."

"Where's the registration place at?"

"It's right beside the palace, the east wing, I think. I don't know. Where's east and west?" the girl rambled, tugging her basket of flowers closer as she made gestures with her hands.

"Thanks, kid! I think I got it!" Yang shouted as she darted past the girl, dodging the erratic crowd and whatever bauble merchants thrust in her direction.

"It's on the left side of the palace!" she heard the girl shout after her.

Whatever other instruction she provided died as the chanting grew louder and the crowd grew thicker. As soon as she turned the corner westward, mentally kicking herself for not thinking about following the large group of people that was obviously gathering somewhere, she saw a platform in the distance. There were two nine-meter-wide LED television displays that flanked it, both turned off. Yang narrowed her eyes towards the stage, barely making out the several people that walked back and forth on the stage.

She turned away, looking for any sign or marker that would lead her to the registration area for the tournament. The longer she stayed lost in the crowd, the harder it would be to actually participate and not spectate. She didn't gamble her money away just to watch a bunch of other warriors fighting. Yang squeezed past several other people, carefully avoiding sharp talons, horns, spikes and watching whether she would accidentally step on a tail or a foot. The girl had told her the registration area was on the left side of the palace. She kept moving past grumbles and backhanded comments, hoping that the girl hadn't been wrong. She brightened when she saw a couple of guards standing by a wrought iron gate, but she realized that this was a royal palace and there were probably hundreds of wrought-iron gates and guards. Still, she kept moving towards them. It wasn't as if she could turn back if she wanted anyway; the crowd inched closer to the stage, closing up whatever gap that Yang had walked through.

There were fewer people as she neared the gate. The guards looked terrifying, standing tall and alert in their midnight black armor. The metal wings on their helmets made them look a head taller than they were, the visors pulled up to expose stoic faces that didn't seem bothered by the heat. Each of them held a halberd, the metal as black as their armors, the tip of the pike almost __three__ heads taller than the men who wielded them. They herded the onlookers away, directing them to the stage where the opening ceremony would be with only a point of a finger. Yang was surprised when the guards stood taller than they already did as two burly men approached, clad in leather and iron armor. They exchanged a few words, slamming their fists on their chests as they pointed to the weapons they had strapped to their legs. Without further question, the guards opened the gate and motioned for them to enter.

Yang made a dash for it. That was where she needed to go, she thought. She muttered apologies and excuses as she ran towards the guards, almost toppling a woman over in her haste. She smiled as as she waved to the guards, beckoning for them to hold the gate open. She stopped dead in her tracks when it closed with a loud squeak, an arm's length away from them.

"The ceremony's over that way, miss." the guard to her right pointed to the stage as if she were blind.

"No, I'm here to join the tournament?" Yang pointed to the closed gate.

The two guards exchanged wary looks before they inspected her from head to toe. She caught the way their eyes stared too long at her right arm.

She knew where this was going. She had heard a thousand times before, long before she even decided to leave Patch Island. Doubts had always loomed over her, following her like a shadow. Heaven forbid, her own father had doubted her ability to even sweep the floor with her mechanical arm once. It was a week after she had gotten the prosthetic and she wanted to smack his face with it. How could he have forgotten that she had done it __without__ the mechanical arm just a week after being discharged from the hospital?

She squared her shoulders and held her head high, waving both her arms around to at least push their doubts aside for the moment and open the damn gate, "I'm a traveling huntress. I've taken down many Grimms all over Remnant. Well, except Vacuo, but I had to come to Menagerie first. You know what I'm saying?"

"Miss," the guard to her left said softly, almost fearfully, "this is a serious tournament. We've seen several deadly fighters walk through this gate in the last two months. That's not counting the warriors of the Seven Clans. It is going to be deadly."

She bristled. "I know that and I am here to join this deadly tournament."

"Are you sure about that?" the one on her right tilted his head.

"You might die." the other added.

"My name is Yang Xiao Long!" she said aloud. Several people looked in her direction as she jabbed her thumb to her chest, ignoring the pain that shot through her entire torso from the impact. __Why do men love to do this?__ "I am the one-armed huntress, certified from the most prestigious academy in Va-"

"Yeah, yeah!" the guards opened the gate and waved her in, "It's your funeral, lady."

Before she could let out even the tiniest squeaks of protest, she slipped through the wrought iron gate, telling herself that arguing with the guards wasn't worth it. She had come here to fight, yes, but not them. The prize for causing a little ruckus with __them__ would probably be three chests of gold as bail or a lifetime in the Kuo Kuana prison. Yang knew who she was and she had grown as a fighter since her graduation. A couple of burly seven-foot-tall men, clad in mismatched leather and iron armor weren't enough to scare her.

But maybe about two hundred of them would.

She stopped once more, taking in the sight of the supposedly empty field of the palace. To the left, there was another one of those nine-meter television displays, overlooking all of them. It had reminded her of the tavern from yesterday, only this one was currently off. There were tents everywhere, as far as her eyes could see, in all shapes and sizes. She could hear the sound of steel splitting the wind, pained grunts and taunts and laughter. She could hear the sound of fire, of hammering, something heavy being dunked in a vat of water. There were bells and heavy footfalls, muffled thuds clanging metal and wood breaking apart. There were little melee rings set up, several of them; two or three combatants swinging their weapons around and dodging their enemies' less-than-friendly blows. Yang saw a couple of women in the fray. One of them was duking it out with a scrawny yet heavily-armed man with her own modified baseball bat.

Yang ignored the fighting and the nervousness that bubbled in the pit of her stomach, searching for a royalty-looking table or tent or more condescending guards or whatever this tournament's registration area would look like. As she had learned twice today, she followed the crowd. Not the ones that were heading straight for the melee rings. The louder the sound of grunting and screaming, the more she stayed away. Nobody paid her any mind, not even the few others that had accidentally hit her or stepped on her toes, chatting with their friends as if Yang didn't even exist.

"Move!" a terse grunt followed by a sharp jab at Yang's shoulder.

Her hands clenched into fists, glaring at the person that practically shoved her aside. In any given day, she would have reached out and demanded an apology, but Yang eyed the hooded-figure, not even excusing themselves as they marched, and she followed. She could sense the urgency, the __need__ to be somewhere within a specific time. Much like herself. She was going to bet the last of her coin that the rude person in the drab grey hood was another late registrant.

Yang followed from a little bit of distance, not wanting to scare them and prompt an attack before the tournament even began. She wondered if the other combatants had scuffled outside of their melee matches before and what kind of punishment they had gotten. Or maybe, the guards had ignored them and they just vowed to take it to the actual fight.

The uncertainty was hot inside her, a voice telling her to turn back, not to gamble, take three jobs and go back home. She wasn't the same as she was three years ago, most definitely not when she was eighteen years old. Maybe that had been the prime of her life. Maybe now, she was considered a washed-up huntress clinging to a dying profession. Maybe. Maybe not. She shook her head as she smiled nervously at a gigantic woman carrying a morning star. She craned her neck to look past plenty of other freakishly tall warriors, shiny helmets, battered helmets, rusty helmets, bright-colored plumes and peeling leather hoods. The grey-hooded figure was gone. But, merely a stone's throw away, there stood a familiar armor of midnight black, barking orders and directing people to an enormous tent, deep purple in color and trimmed with an intricate array of design in gold thread.

"Stop pushing and shoving!" the royal guard shouted, "This will all be over sooner if you'd all cooperate. Get in line, right your damn names and grab a piece of paper from the bucket."

Just as the guard had ordered, Yang marched towards the poorest excuse of a line that she had seen. She estimated about twenty to twenty-five late registrants, elbowing each other and demanding whoever to __"hurry the hell up".__ A hand gripped at her shoulder before she could even get close, pulling her backwards and twisting to face her assailant. Yang readied herself, flexing her muscle to get her mechanical arm to cock the gun embedded into the state-of-the-art design. Before she could even pull her arm to ready a punch, a hand wrapped tight around the back of her neck and something sharp and cold pricked her neck.

"Why are you following me?"

Yang looked up into angry eyes, as golden as dancing fire. It was the grey-hooded figure, a woman who appeared to be around her own age. Her hood and her black hair obscured half of her face, but Yang could see the circles under her eyes were dark against her pale, unmarred skin, perfect white teeth bared as un-calloused hands gripped Yang's neck tighter. The woman stood about the same height as herself, maybe a little shorter or taller. She couldn't tell with the way they were both pressed against each other. Yang de-cocked her weapons and relaxed herself, hoping this unhinged woman wouldn't do anything stupid.

"Hey!" the sound of metal against metal approached, "Leave that in the arena, you two."

A guard appeared beside them, glaring at the woman as he pulled the two of them apart. He shot one last warning look before he pushed Yang to the back of the registration line. He yanked the hooded woman closer to him, trying to stare into her eyes, but she squirmed out of his grip and raised her hands in surrender. "Alright, metal man. Just leave us alone."

She retreated from the guard, obediently standing behind Yang, hands still visible for him to see. He flashed them one last warning look before he stalked back to the front of the line. The other contenders grimaced and shot the two women dirty looks. The hooded woman only shrugged while Yang kept her head down.

The line moved a tad slower than expected. Much like everything in the last twenty-four hours. How long would it take to write a damn name and pull a piece of paper out of a bucket? Was there a test in the tent? Did the contenders have to arm wrestle a guard before they were able to register? Yang shuddered at the thought and remembered her earlier altercation with the woman standing right behind her. She had held a knife to her throat before she had even asked her question. The Faunus were a lot scarier than she initially thought.

She bit her tongue and kept her eyes to the front. She ignored the niggling feeling at the back of her head that told her to stare down the psychopath behind her. Not all of the Faunus have been as crazy as knife-lady. Sure, most of the locals had been unkind and weren't subtle about disliking her presence, but not a single one of them tried to harm her... unless they thought they could rob her blind. This woman was not the standard. She was simply paranoid.

Yang didn't even know what compelled her to turn around and whisper, "I wasn't following you... __per se__."

The woman's eyes narrowed and Yang swore she saw dancing flames. It felt like it too as she felt heat rising to her cheeks. The hood had been pulled from her face a little bit, her black hair tucked neatly behind an ear. Yang held her breath as her own eyes traced the uneven patch of skin that spread from her barely concealed left eye. It was deep and jagged and pinkish, as if it was brand new. She wanted to ask about it. She didn't, of course.

"I was hoping you were going to register for the tournament." Yang continued, turning to hide from her fiery gaze, "So, I followed you to find it. And here we are!"

"Here we are."

They were quiet as the line went painstakingly slowly. There were a couple other hopefuls that lined up behind them, talking peacefully amongst themselves. Yang had heard their conversation steer towards her though. She ignored their snickers and the bets of when her metal arm would break. She registered as quickly as she could, half impatient to move as far away from the whispers as possible and half afraid of the hooded woman who waited right outside the tent. She had picked a piece of paper out of the bucket, listened as the guards told her that was where she needed to go tonight, after the opening ceremony. "A bed and a meal before the battle."

Yang thanked them with a firm nod and marched out into the open.


End file.
